


Like the Sea

by MaskoftheRay



Series: Books, books, books! [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book: Chrzest ognia | Baptism of Fire, Canon Era, Emotionally Repressed, Friendship, Gen, Human & Vampire Relationship, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Loneliness, Misunderstandings, Social Anxiety, What-If, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, potentially pre-slash, verbal arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: After one of the (many) times when Geralt announces that he’s leaving the group, the witcher finally does. Now it’s up to Regis to persuade him to come back.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia (mentioned), Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Maria Barring | Milva & Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach
Series: Books, books, books! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947004
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: Our Favorites, Regis Rocks





	Like the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> “Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea.
> 
> We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together  
>  is deep and strong and strange. Nay, it is deeper than my sister’s  
>  depth and stronger than my brother’s strength, and stranger than  
>  the strangeness of my madness”  
>  — from “The Great Longing” by Kahlil Gibran

“The hell with all of you,” the Witcher finally said, sticking his spoon into his bootleg. “The hell with all of you, you cooperative fellowship of idiots, united by a common goal which none of you understand. And to hell with me too.” With that sour pronouncement, Geralt stood with a flash of a grimace and a soft grunt. He did not put a hand on his knee to stabilize it, though his companions, Milva, Cahir, Dandelion, and, of course, Regis, all knew he wanted to.

As they watched the Witcher walk away, only the faint rustling of reeds and marsh grass disturbed the quiet. “Well,” Dandelion said finally, after turning away from the spectacle. He glanced around at his companions.

Milva scowled and spat into the campfire.

Cahir, who had wisely stayed quiet during the outburst, wore a serious expression. It made him look far older than his years. “Will he be back?” asked the Nilfgaardian-who-was-not-a-Nilfgaardian. All eyes turned to the Poet, who had brought out his lute again and was softly strumming it.

Dandelion paused, and the lute’s strings thrummed loudly in the following silence. “I think so— how to explain it? Geralt is…” the lute was set carefully aside as the Poet turned to stare into the flames, which made his face ruddy and added a sharp gleam to his eyes. After a long moment, he looked up and met the others’ waiting gazes. Even Regis.’ “Geralt is a bit like a whirlpool,” he said finally, “in that he is very powerful and all thoughts flow towards his center. This is not to say that he his self-centered, but—”

“But rather that he is self-contained,” Regis interjected. “He has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, to his, and perhaps _our_ , detriment. To extend your simile, Dandelion: the whirlpool feels guilt and apologizes to ships sunk on their own, but not to the ones which it, itself, has damaged. Geralt believes that the natural course of action would be for us to recognize his dangerous nature, and to steer clear of it. That we have not seems strange, unnatural even. For the witcher cannot see that we are no ordinary ships, that he is no ordinary whirlpool.”

All were silent. A log on the fire popped, sending up a cascade of sparks. The Poet frowned momentarily, as if deciding whether to be upset at the vampire’s interruption, or more pleased that, at last, there was someone besides himself in this camp who appreciated wordsmithing. He decided on the latter. “Yes. As Regis has so astutely put it, Geralt is not used to people standing with him, especially those with good intentions. He feels it is unnatural for a whirlpool to leave something unbroken, even if the whirlpool had no desire to break anything in the first place.”

At that moment, they heard the whinny of a horse and the sound of hooves. “I don’t know anything about whirlpools or ships,” Milva commented dryly, “but it seems to me that our witcher has just left us.”

“Damn,” Dandelion swore, half rising to his feet for a moment. Then he shook his head and sat down, shooting a quelling look at Cahir, who had also been getting to his feet. “No. No, don’t, my Nilfgaardian friend. Geralt confessed to me, recently, that he is unsure it was a good idea to spare you. I don’t believe your face would be the most welcome sight at the moment.”

“What do you suggest?” Cahir asked unperturbedly, sitting again.

Regis remained silent, but his lips were twisted into a frown and his eyes glittered eerily, unnaturally even, in the firelight as he looked intently at Dandelion. Milva appeared equally concerned, if a fair bit more annoyed. The Poet sighed. “Nothing. Either he will realize his mistake on his own, and yes, that does occasionally happen, I’ve known Geralt long enough to have seen it, or he will not. In which case—” here Dandelion sighed again, much more dramatically, “in which case, we shall have to dig him out of whatever new misadventure he falls into.”

Milva cursed, loudly and harshly. Cahir frowned, but did not comment.

After a moment of grim silence, Regis cleared his throat and stood smoothly. “And if I were to seek him out?”

“You?” Dandelion asked thoughtfully. “Well, you’re far from the only monst— creature whom the Witcher has spared over the years. Though you have the dubious honor of being the most fearsome, reputationally-speaking. And as far as I know, the only such _being_ that he has allowed into his company. He cannot very well harm you—”

“He could,” Regis interjected seriously, “if he truly wished to.” No one quite believed him, but they let the comment pass.

“As I was saying: Geralt cannot harm you, and I don’t think he would try to either… In other words, he’d snap and snarl at you, Regis, but there would be no bite.”

The higher vampire nodded. “Thank you, Dandelion. I shall be back by morning. Hopefully accompanied by our wayward witcher.” With these words, Regis disappeared into a cloud of dark, blueish-colored smoke.

“Well,” Dandelion said, offering a full-circle conclusion to the conversation.

Although Geralt would have liked to gallop off into the night, two things stopped him. The first was that it was not practical to gallop when Roach couldn’t see the path ahead, not when monsters, or more likely soldiers, could be camped secretly nearby. Though he’d cursed out his companions, he did not wish them harm. Harm which would certainly befall them if his foolish actions alerted any enemies in the vicinity. The second was that his knee was already throbbing and he knew it would be far more painful if he were required to clamp his legs down, as was necessary to stay mounted on a galloping horse. So he settled for a trot.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed again, his hands clenching into slightly-trembling fists on the reins.

After riding for what he estimated was no more than a half hour, the witcher stopped and dismounted, nearly stumbling at the stab of pain which went through the muscles around his knee. Even with the moon’s light it was still dark, so Geralt was careful as he led Roach from the path, through a clump of bushes, grass, and trees to a small clearing. In the distance, he could hear water gurgling— from the same source as the other camp— and nothing else noteworthy.

The witcher unburdened Roach, carefully set his belongings in a pile, then led his horse to the water. He kept a hand free to draw his sword, though Geralt did not think that there were any monsters about. But he could be wrong. He could always be wrong, and right now, with Ciri missing, he could not afford to be. So he kept one hand ready while Roach drank her fill. Once they were away from the water and had returned to the small clearing, he relaxed somewhat.

As the witcher tied Roach to a tree and unrolled his bed roll, he debated starting a fire, but ultimately decided against it. Geralt did not want to attract attention and it was warm enough that while a fire would be pleasant, it wasn’t truly necessary. Furthermore, he did not plan to do anything by the fire’s light, merely to sleep so that he could wake early and be on his way. Just as he had spread out the bed roll and lain down, a branch cracked. Roach whinnied. Geralt sat up in a flash and reached for his sword—

“There is no need for that. It’s just me, Regis.”

Despite himself, the witcher released a breath and tried to ignore the adrenaline flowing through his veins. “I’ll be the judge of whether a sword is necessary,” Geralt said. But he relaxed his grip on the weapon and set it aside after a moment. Regis stepped through the trees and walked across the clearing with unerring certainty and grace. The higher vampire’s eyes, reflective like a nocturnal predator’s, met his. _How did I not realize sooner?_ Geralt asked himself again, swallowing. _It should have been obvious…_

Regis stopped about half a foot away, then sat down.

Neither of them immediately began speaking. Some time passed like this.

Eventually, as Geralt shifted, trying to relieve the stiffness of his muscles, he flinched, gritting his teeth as his knee twanged again. Regis, of course, noticed. Abruptly, he crouched by the witcher’s side, hands fluttering over the injury. Geralt’s heart thumped loudly at the unexpected proximity. _If he wanted to dispose of me, this would be the perfect moment to do it_. But, somehow, the witcher knew that the vampire would not.

“Do you mind if I…”

“Go ahead.”

Regis nodded and slowly moved his hands across the witcher’s lower thigh, delicately skimming over the knee itself. Geralt bit down on his lips to keep in a groan. Despite the pain, Regis’ cool touch did bring him some relief. After a moment, the higher vampire pressed down and— “Be still, Geralt. This should only hurt for a moment.”

Quite unable to speak, ears ringing, the witcher nodded. And, true to Regis’ words, the pain— _all of it_ — soon disappeared. He sighed, half tiredly, half contentedly. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Regis smiled, slightly wider than normal. A hint of fang was in the expression. It did not perturb him. Much. “In the far East. Of course, I have had to adapt my methods somewhat, as this particular treatment would normally require needles. But that is a long tale. Needs must, and all that.”

Geralt was faintly surprised, because he himself had traveled far, but the way Regis spoke, he imagined that ‘the far East’ was, in fact, _much_ farther than he had— or ever would— go. “I see.”

The higher vampire smiled again, then withdrew his hands. After a brief hesitation, he sat from his crouch and turned to Geralt. This left them in much closer proximity than they had been before. “I do not believe I ever heard the exact circumstances under which you received this injury, Witcher.”

He snorted, then said, somewhat wryly, “That, Regis, is a long story.” The higher vampire gave him a pointed look, but otherwise did not respond to the jab. So Geralt said nothing more, and they sat together in silence.

Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy and Regis must have noticed this. He shifted slightly and observed the witcher, making no effort to hide it. “It is late, and you, my friend, surely have plans to rise tomorrow at dawn and be far away from here before we have even packed up camp.”

Geralt shook his head, biting down on a yawn. “Don’t think I could sleep, even if I wanted to. Stay a while longer, Regis.” The vampire nodded and made himself comfortable again.

Abruptly, Geralt snorted and his lips quirked up a bit.

“Do share. I am certain that if this mysterious subject managed to amuse _you_ , it will leave me in stitches.”

Geralt straightened up, as if suddenly remembering the higher vampire’s presence. His expression was odd: not quite a grimace, not quite a smile. “I was just thinking about all the other, long, complicated stories from my life. I’m sure that Dandelion’s taken the time to share more than a few. After all, he was there for a lot of them. If you really want to see him get worked up, ask him about the Djinn.”

Regis smiled faintly. “I am sure that it is a convoluted, yet exciting tale.”

The witcher’s face lost most traces of amusement. He turned away from the higher vampire to stare at their surroundings. “I don’t know why I put up with him. Hell, he’s said it himself: no one understands why we’re friends.”

Instead of platitudes, or an involved explanation (perhaps musing) on the nature of friendship, Regis’ actual response was quite pithy: “Loneliness.”

“Pardon?”

“Loneliness, Geralt. The state of solitude, lacking companionship—”

“I know what it _means_ , Regis. Get to the point.”

“You were lonely, Geralt. So you accepted our dear Dandelion. Then naturally, after gaining mutual respect, and, of course, adventuring together, your relationship deepened.”

“And?”

Here, Regis looked thoughtfully at the witcher. Geralt, undaunted, slightly curious, looked back.

“Your Poet friend compared you to a whirlpool tonight—”

“Of course he did.”

“I was not finished. He compared you to a whirlpool, trying to explain to us, your confused and disheartened companions, the inner workings of your mind. He said, speaking of you, ‘that he is very powerful and all thoughts flow towards his center.’ Not to say that you are self-centered, Geralt, but rather that you are self-contained. Later, after some discussion, Dandelion added: ‘He feels it is unnatural for a whirlpool to leave something unbroken, even if the whirlpool had no desire to break anything in the first place.’”

Geralt frowned, looking away from the higher vampire. “Your point?” he asked stiffly.

Regis swallowed. _Tread carefully, Emiel_ , he warned himself. “I think that, while Dandelion’s comparison was apt, a better one could be found. You are like the sea itself, Geralt. There are depths there, a potential for danger, but the feature which most notice is the tide. The furious roar of the waves and the pushing away of objects in them. How the water shrinks away from the beaches. Am I making myself clear?”

The witcher, still frowning, nodded.

“Good. While some may recognize the sea’s depths, others its tides, and the remainder its potential danger, most do not pay attention to the fact that the water is always there, that though it retreats, it also returns. The sea is, forgive the pun, anchored to the shore because it needs it, even if the sea does not want to admit to such a need.”

“I don’t get it.”

Regis sighed, sure that this was one of the witcher’s infamous displays of intentional dull-wittedness. _It would be quite effective on others_ , he admitted. “People, Geralt, are the shore. Companionship. Friendship, even. Just as you are repulsed by it, you return to it. Because you are lonely. Because you need it. And the shore will always be there for you when you are ready.”

Geralt was scowling now, but it did not seem to be an _aggressive_ scowl to Regis. “You should leave the wordistry to Dandelion, Vampire.”

Regis, sensing that perhaps he had, or was about to, overstay his welcome, stood up. “Perhaps. But if I were to, say, lead Dandelion, Milva, and Cahir here at first light, would we find you waiting?”

The witcher turned and stared at him for a moment. He looked away. _Damn that vampire. Damn him_. “Hypothetically, if that were to happen… you might.”

Despite the fact that Geralt was intentionally not looking at him, Regis smiled. “I shall keep that in mind, Witcher. Good night.” With that, the higher vampire took on his gaseous form and disappeared.

“Night, Regis,” Geralt muttered to the empty air. He lay down and went to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So I came here from the show originally, although I have also watched play-throughs of _Blood and Wine_ and most of _The Wild Hunt_. I recently started reading the books (about a fourth through TToTS) and, man, I was really worried that I wouldn’t like them, or certain characters, as much. But I’ve really enjoyed them so far. AND REGIS! REGIS IS EVEN BETTER THAN I EXPECTED. _**HOW**_ DOES EVERYONE NOT LOVE HIM T_T? 
> 
> Beginning snippet of dialogue borrowed from _Baptism of Fire_ , pg. 234. 
> 
> Read the full version of “The Great Longing” [here](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58718/the-great-longing).


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